


My Sisters' Keeper

by nomeancity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Requite Universe - Ankaret Wells
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21841747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomeancity/pseuds/nomeancity
Summary: Catha Boccamera is going into her first year at Hogwarts - and her sisters are very worried about her Sorting.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	1. The Sorting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Senji (Larilille)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larilille/gifts).



Tzenni generally forgot over the holidays how loud the Great Hall could be. The din of 300 students, all of whom seemed to be talking at once (most of them about Quidditch or the Wyrd Sisters), struck like a blow on ears that had become accustomed to the peace of Lionvarre, even at the relatively quiet Ravenclaw table. It always took a couple of weeks before she adapted enough to become serenely absorbed in her Arithmancy homework over breakfast.

The hush that fell (interspersed with excited whispers) as the first years filed into the Hall should therefore have come as a relief. Instead, Tzenni felt the sick anticipation that had been lurking in her stomach all day solidify into a tight constriction in her chest. She could not imagine a way this would end well.

She tipped her head forward to hide her face and tried to breathe deeply. _I must not faint now, Catha will never forgive me…_ The smell of pumpkin juice from her glass brought on a wave of nausea and she swallowed hard. The boy next to her - Stefan Volkov - nudged her arm and whispered, “Boccamera, are you all right? Are you feeling faint again?”

Tzenni was almost grateful for the wave of annoyance that forced the nausea back down her throat. _You faint once, then everyone imagines you’re going to do it again. We’re nowhere near any broomsticks!_ She manufactured a smile, through gritted teeth. “I’m fine, Volkov. Really.”

He looked unconvinced, but turned back to the Hall. The Sorting Hat was singing and everyone was watching - the teachers with pride, the current students with varying degrees of boredom or anticipation and most of the new first years with delighted amazement. _"There’s nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can’t see…”_ That, thought Tzenni, was rather the problem.

A far more welcome nudge, to her back this time, interrupted her train of thought. She twisted round and leaned back to meet the sparkling grey eyes of the person behind with a weak smile. Innes Liang grinned encouragingly back at her. “No need to ask which your sister is, I’ve spotted her already. She looks just like you, but taller - and nothing like Ligeia.”

“I know.” Tzenni craned her neck, despite herself, and instantly found Catha, half a head taller than most of the other first year girls. She was talking to another girl and a stocky boy - from their gestures, about flying or, knowing Catha, Quidditch. Despite her anxiety, Tzenni felt a warm glow: whatever else might happen, she needn’t worry about her little sister making friends - Catha had always had the knack for that. She waited until Catha glanced towards the student tables, then gave her a little nod of greeting. She was amply rewarded - the bravado in Catha’s expression fell away and she beamed at her sister for a moment with the genuine smile that made people realise Ligeia wasn’t the only beauty in the family.

Ligeia… Tzenni turned, against her better judgement, and sneaked a look towards the Slytherin table. Ligeia was easy to spot, her fair hair gleaming gold in the candlelight. She was inclining her head, almost regally, to hear whatever Astrid Black was whispering in her ear, but her eyes kept drifting back towards the line of first years. Ligeia had the same gift for popularity as Catha, but Ligeia didn’t so much make friends as contract alliances. It was one of the many reasons that Slytherin House suited her down to the ground. Tzenni shivered. _There’s going to be so much trouble._

Innes followed Tzenni’s gaze. “You know, your sister always sits by the candlestick on purpose to make her hair glow like that. If she didn’t, she’d look like a white mouse next to Astrid. I watched her do it every feast day last year.”

Tzenni choked. “Innes! You can’t say that!”

Innes smirked unrepentantly, then turned their own hair bright gold for extra effect. “Made you laugh, though, didn’t it?”

Tzenni looked affectionately at them. “It did.” Innes had told her in an unguarded moment last year that they didn’t see any point in avoiding trouble, because trouble seemed to find them. Tzenni had no difficulty believing this: being non-binary, Muggle-born and an orphan made Innes a magnet for all kinds of discrimination. This was only partially balanced out by being a Metamorphmagus and a crack duellist. Tzenni had spent some time reading up on intersectionality, but Innes had lost interest part way through her explanation and said it sounded about right, but how did having a word for it help? Surely the best idea was to hex anyone who sneered at you. It was really no wonder Innes had sorted Gryffindor, but Tzenni often wondered why anyone that brave continued to bother with her.

“ _You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave of heart…_ " Catha was brave, there was no doubt about it. Tzenni could vividly remember a smaller Catha remaining completely defiant in the face of Lucastine’s wrath. On that particular occasion, she’d broken into the broomstick store and flown herself to watch their local Quidditch team play in the league final. Under detailed questioning, it had become apparent that it was less a miracle that Catha had not fallen to her death on the way to the match, and more an indication that this was not the first time she had stolen a broomstick.

Of course, it had also been Ligeia’s broomstick that Catha had taken, then and previously. The only reason that her crime had been discovered on the occasion of the Quidditch league final was that someone else had stolen the broomstick on a more permanent basis while Catha was watching the game. (Tzenni had distracted herself from the row, which had made her feel sick, by wondering if a pre-stolen broomstick could really be stolen again.) Catha herself had lamented the injustice of this bad luck, while also unfailingly pointing out to her mother and an enraged Ligeia that Lucastine’s own broomstick would have been too big for Catha to control, and Tzenni, well…

Tzenni gloomily considered that Lucastine’s fury at Catha’s disobedience and carelessness had overlain a certain amount of pride in her youngest daughter’s nerve. In contrast, Lucastine had always viewed Tzenni’s complete inability to fly anything, let alone a broomstick that was too big for her, with slightly pitying contempt. Catha had got her own broomstick the next year - a decent period of time after Ligeia’s had been replaced, of course. Tzenni’s own broomstick had been sold the year before the Stolen Broomstick Row, after Lucastine’s third unsuccessful attempt to teach Tzenni to fly had ended disastrously. Tzenni cringed at the memory of her mother’s exasperated voice, “When I said you didn’t have any guts, I was speaking metaphorically.” She had cherished a hope that learning to fly might be different at school, once she had escaped from her mother’s expectations. It had not, and she remained unsure whether fainting in front of her entire year had been more or less humiliating than being sick. At least Innes had caught her.

It had also settled once and for all the question of whether she should continue with flying lessons. She could not resent the exchange of terror on a broomstick for an extra hour of her beloved Potions or Arithmancy. Of course, the former _would_ be different this year. She stole a glance towards the front of the Hall. It had been a scandal when the Headmistress had appointed her only son as the new Potions Master, Head of Slytherin House _and_ Deputy Headmaster, and the whispers among the students had not completely died away, even after the summer holidays. Tzenni was not sure whether she gave credence to the rumours that he was an ex-Death Eater (could one un-become a Death Eater?), but there was no doubt that Latinus Malabranca was a Potions genius. She had devoured some of his papers over the summer, and was torn between eagerness to learn from the wizard who could brew a new version of the Wolfsbane potion and a well-developed wariness of both Slytherins and Malabrancas.

She craned her neck again to get a better view. She supposed Professor Malabranca didn’t look evil, really. He had very long black hair and fingernails that she would have thought were impractical in a Potions specialist. She glanced toward the High Table and noticed that the only empty chair, presumably his, was at the foot of the table, rather than next to the Headmistress in the centre - as would have been his right as Deputy Headmaster. She wondered, with a certain amount of sympathy, if he was worried about being in his mother’s shadow.

He was watching the Sorting Hat with an expression that was more polite than interested, but at that moment he looked up to catch her gaze. Tzenni met a pair of warm, deep-brown eyes and felt a sudden shiver that seemed to start in her stomach, the polar opposite of the lump of dread that had been lurking there. She felt herself start to blush, yet couldn’t tear her eyes away. It was as though she and he were caught in the middle of a pool of silence.

For a moment, she thought his eyes widened in recognition, then his gaze moved past her, towards the High Table, and she saw him give a small nod. Tzenni hastily looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, then almost fell off the bench as Innes nudged her again, jerking their head towards the front of the Hall. She hadn’t imagined the silence - the Sorting Hat had finished its song and the only sound was a small crackle as Professor Malabranca unrolled the roll scroll. He cleared his throat, then read out “Belayse, Davide.”

The entire Hall seemed to hold its breath as a small boy tottered to the stool, picked up the Hat in trembling hands, flopped onto the stool and placed the Hat on his head, where it slipped down to his nose. All Tzenni could think, inanely, was that it was going to be very difficult to concentrate during the duller parts of lectures if Professor Malabranca spoke like that all the time. His voice reminded her of the expensive coffee her mother only had served to very important guests.

“SLYTHERIN!” The Hat announced, and Davide Belayse scuttled towards the furthest away table, to a polite round of applause. Slytherins probably thought it was vulgar to cheer. Tzenni couldn’t resist looking and saw Ligeia smiling thinly as she applauded, her eyes fixed on the waiting line of first years.

“Boccamera, Catha.” Maybe his voice was more like bitter chocolate than coffee, Tzenni thought, while a small inner part of her yammered that Catha was ambitious, you couldn’t want to be Chaser for the Harpies by the age of sixteen and not be ambitious, could you, so maybe it was all going to be fine…

She couldn’t look away as Catha strode towards the stool. No-one could possibly accuse her sister of scuttling, even if she did stumble over the edge of her robes and somehow become entangled with the stool as she lifted the Hat. It would be impossible to scuttle with legs that long. Catha raked the Hall with a glare, as though daring anyone to laugh, then threw a half-wild grin back towards the line of first years as she sat down and put the Hat on. Tzenni glimpsed the stocky boy flashing Catha a thumbs-up, before the fear had her by the throat and all she could do was stare at the Hat.

It seemed to take an unconscionably long time - Catha’s shoulders shrugged as the Hat whispered and at one point her hand came up, as though to pull it off. Tzenni tried to breathe deeply - she could feel her fingers starting to tingle from hyperventilating. _No, don’t faint!_ At long last, the rip in the Hat opened and it roared triumphantly, “GRYFFINDOR!”

A wild whoop went up from the Gryffindor table, stark contrast to the restrained clapping of earlier, but Tzenni hardly heard it over the roaring in her ears. She felt a wave of adrenaline crash over her head, then seem to slop out again through her tingling fingers and toes. She almost giggled with a strange relief: _There we go, the worst has happened - now we just have to go on._

She made herself smile and clap as Catha pulled the Hat off and dropped it unceremoniously on the stool, before bounding towards the Gryffindor table. Catha was laughing in earnest, with delight, and Tzenni felt the tension in her own shoulders ease and her smile broaden. She twisted round to wave at her sister and mouth “Well done!” Catha grinned and waved back wildly, almost knocking over a jug of pumpkin juice. Caitriesse Born, one of the Gryffindor prefects, stood up and guided Catha to a seat next to her, under the guise of a hug of welcome, presumably before anything else could go flying.

Innes in turn reached across the table to welcome Catha to their House with a mock formal hand clasp, given the lie by their wicked smile. Tzenni couldn’t help but feel smug as she watched Catha’s expression change from incomprehension to thrilled recognition - Innes had been the hero of half the tales she’d told to Catha since she first went to Hogwarts. Caitriesse asked Catha a question and, under cover of Catha’s animated answer, Innes leaned back to murmur to Tzenni. “Don’t worry, she’ll fit right in. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Tzenni smiled weakly at her friend. She really did appreciate the thought, but she wasn’t sure that being superintended by Innes was going to improve Catha’s chances of staying out of trouble. Catha looked so happy, though. Maybe Gryffindor was the right place for her and everything would be fine. Tzenni sighed and gazed absently round the Hall, then froze. Liegia was sitting very upright at the Slytherin table, her eyes on the Gryffindor table and her expression thunderous. Tzenni shrank back into her chair, then stiffened as she suddenly became aware of Professor Malabranca’s velvety voice pronouncing a familiar surname: “Kapellan, Allister.”

She was entirely unsurprised when there was barely a pause before the Hat shouted “GRYFFINDOR!” Partly in a bid to avoid seeing Ligeia’s face, which she was certain had gone from thunderous to pale with fury, she turned to the Gryffindor table, just in time to see Catha greet the son of their mother’s greatest enemy with first a hand clasp, then a whole-hearted hug. Allister Kapellan was the stocky boy that Catha had been talking to in the queue. Catha made room for him on the bench next to her, then poured him pumpkin juice as she laughed at something he said.

Tzenni dropped her head into her hands, and began to mentally compose the inevitable letter to Lucastine. _Dear Mother, I hope this finds you well. I am sure you will have heard about Catha’s Sorting, but I wanted to tell you that she seems very happy with the outcome. I am sure that Gryffindor will provide her with new opportunities, though her family loyalty is, of course, without question…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucastine's comments on Tzenni's guts or lack thereof are taken directly from _The Maker's Mask_ , with thanks to Ankaret Wells for better sarcasm than I could dream up!


	2. Afterwards

Tzenni had very little appetite for her dinner, after the Sorting was finished. However, a soothing conversation with Julia Petersen about Transfiguration went some way to restoring her equilibrium. She took care not to glance towards the Slytherin table, and concentrated on the fact that Catha continued to look blazingly happy. She succeeded to the extent that, when the feast ended, amidst the usual cacophony of scraping chairs and trampling feet, she didn’t even hesitate to go over and join Innes at the Gryffindor table. She smiled at Catha, who was still babbling to Caitriesse and gesturing with a bread roll. Innes leaned a friendly shoulder against hers and murmured, “Your sister’s all right.”

Tzenni felt a warm glow. “I know.”

Caitriesse finally disengaged Catha, with a nod towards Tzenni and Innes. “I think your sister’s waiting for you, kid.” She strolled off with a friendly nod to Innes, who tipped their head in reply.

“Tzenni!”

Tzenni opened her arms wide and received her rapidly incoming sibling in a hug. She shut her eyes, and for a moment it was every time she’d ever caught her little sister up into a hug, after every success. “Hello, Cathet. You did so well.”

Catha released her and grinned. “I know. It was amazing…”

“Tzenni! Catha!”

Tzenni saw the chill she felt mirrored in Catha’s expression, which went from happy to mutinous. She forced herself to turn and meet Ligeia’s furious eyes as Catha did. She was aware of Innes as a solid warmth at her back and drew courage from them. “Ligeia…”

Ligeia was not paying any attention to her, though. She glared down at Catha. Tzenni thought, irrelevantly, that Ligeia was going to find that glare less effective in a year or so, when Catha would be able to look her in the eye.

“Catha, how could you? Did you not think of any of us, at all? Or of the family name? Mother will be so upset…” Livid would be a more accurate description, Tzenni thought, then felt guilty. “...And the Boccamera have always sorted Slytherin! Now everyone wonders why both my sisters haven’t!”

Tzenni caught her breath at the genuine pain in Ligeia’s voice (even if a cool part of her brain noted that some of that pain was for Ligeia’s own social embarrassment). Before she could say anything, though, Catha drew herself up, already bristling with rage. (Maybe less than a year, thought Tzenni.) “I didn’t d-do anything! The Hat puts you where you belong, everyone knows that! And I b-belong in Gryffindor! We’re not at home any more, you can’t tell me what to do - the Sorting Hat’s d-decision is final!” Catha ground to a halt, panting with effort.

Ligeia opened her mouth and Tzenni could see her lining up one of her vicious retorts. She hastily cut in, “Ligeia, I’m not sure there is a lot we could do about Catha’s House now…”

Ligeia rounded on her. “What could you possibly know about it, Tzenni? It was bad enough when you sorted Ravenclaw - though I don’t know why that surprised anyone, given you never paid attention to anything that wasn’t written in a book. You would be a lot more use if you occasionally thought of something real!”

Tzenni felt the tears start at the back of her eyes. It didn’t seem to matter how often she reminded herself that she had been happily in Ravenclaw for three years, or that Ligeia thought Potions was real enough when she asked for Tzenni’s help with her summer reading. When Ligeia was angry, Tzenni was seven years old again and desperate for her big sister’s approval. She swallowed hard, then jumped as she felt a warm hand on her arm.

The voice that went with the arm was, in contrast, very cold. “What would it matter if Lady Tzenni and Lady Catha did choose their Houses? I happen to think they chose well.” Innes might be three years younger, but they had no trouble looking down their nose at Ligeia, who drew in her breath through clenched teeth.

“You would, and you’re a pernicious influence on Tzenni. Our mother does not approve of inter-House friendships - and clearly it’s had a terrible effect on Catha.” Ligeia turned to her youngest sister, whose grin of appreciation for Innes’ support vanished. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you talking to that boy, all through dinner - a Kapellan, of all people! Really, Catha!”

Catha snarled back, “He’s n-nice - and he supports the Harpies! He’s my friend, and you c-can’t stop me having friends in my own House.”

“Can I not? Or if I can’t, you can be sure that Mother can.” Catha paled and Liegia relaxed in triumph at her palpable hit. “If Mother finds out you’ve been associating with the Kapellans, of all Gryffindors, what would you like to bet she grounds you for the holidays? No flying and no matches."

“Y-you w-wouldn’t.” Tzenni dragged her gaze from the ground and was horrified to see that the tremor in Catha’s voice wasn’t just her stammer, which always worsened at moments of stress. Catha, indomitable Catha, was about to cry.

“Of course I would.” Becoming surer of her victory, Ligeia’s face and voice were serene. “I’m responsible for making sure you keep good company - I’m the eldest.”

Catha broke down and sobbed, loudly. Tzenni took two steps and wrapped her arms around her. Innes, their expression grim, put their hand on their wand and stared at Ligeia. Innes did not approve of browbeating younger students. Ligeia folded her arms, sighed, and raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Stay out of this, Liang. You’re not Boccamera.”

“I think, Miss Boccamera, that that is the only statement of yours with which I agree.”

The icy tone seemed to chill the atmosphere in the Hall. Ligeia whirled with a gasp, losing her cool poise. “Headmistress!” Catha stopped crying from sheer startlement. Tzenni felt her heart thump hard once, then start to beat at double time. Innes prudently removed their hand from their wand.

Lella Placida Malabranca, Headmistress of Hogwarts and High Sorceress of the Wizengamot, surveyed her four pupils through narrowed eyes. She nodded briskly to Innes. “Innes Liang, this is clearly a family affair. I suggest you retire to Gryffindor Tower.”

Innes threw Tzenni a single agonised look. She knew they hated to leave a friend in trouble. Tzenni shook her head frantically and made the smallest possible shooing gesture. Innes pressed their lips together, then departed with a quiet, “Yes, Headmistress, goodnight” - although not without an apologetic glance over their shoulder.

Lella Placida let the silence extend for a little longer, during which Catha, recalled to her dignity as a Hogwarts pupil, firmly extricated herself from Tzenni’s arms. Ligeia tried to look serenely untroubled, but Tzenni saw that she was chewing her lips. Tzenni herself clasped her hands ever tighter and studied the floor, then jumped when the Headmistress spoke again.

“I suppose Miss Boccamera is hardly adequate as a descriptor, now that there are three of you in the school. We are fortunate that there are not more to come - three seem to make quite enough noise. Well, Boccamera Major, then.” Ligeia looked up, flushing. The Headmistress paused, raking her with shrewd dark eyes. “You are quite extremely like Lucastine when she was your age. She had an overdeveloped sense of her own importance, too - and she was pert.” 

Ligeia, who had lost control enough to open her mouth for an angry response, shut it again with a snap. Lella Placida smiled sharply and Tzenni was reminded that the Headmistress was Slytherin to the bone. “Your sisters will always be your sisters, regardless of their Houses, but kindly remember that their discipline at school is a matter for their House prefects and the teachers. Not you, nor indeed your mother.”

Ligeia remained stonily silent, though her usually pale cheeks were pink. The Headmistress turned her attention to Catha. “Boccamera Minor, I think it would be best if you also retired to Gryffindor Tower. You could consider on your way that it is best to show the older pupils the respect they are due - including your sister.”

Tzenni watched Catha turning that over in her brain, before looking up at the Headmistress with wary hope. “Headmistress, does that mean Mother and Ligeia can’t stop me being friends with Allister?”

“Did I not tell you to go to your dormitory? I am forced to conclude that all Boccamera are insufferably pert.” Lella Placida looked from Catha to Ligeia thoughtfully. “I will say only this: I disapprove strongly of tale-telling. Furthermore, discouraging both inter- and intra-House friendships seems a strange position. In my experience, the more allies a witch has, the better.” She nodded sharply. “Now, go to bed, child.”

Catha went, studiously ignoring Ligeia and with a hastily mouthed goodnight to Tzenni. The Headmistress waited until her footsteps had died away, then raised an eyebrow at Ligeia. “I think, Boccamera Major, that you might also go to bed. I have nothing more to say to you, other than that I would have expected more subtlety of a Slytherin. The House has clearly gone downhill since my day.”

Ligeia inclined her head stiffly. “Headmistress. Goodnight.” She turned sharply and set off in the direction of the dungeons with what Tzenni could only describe as a flounce.

There was a charged silence. Tzenni studied the floor. The pressure of the Headmistress’ attention was like heat from a fire. At last, Lella Placida spoke, “Which makes you, I suppose, Boccamera Medius. Are you mediocre?”

Tzenni forced herself to meet that fierce gaze. “Headmistress, the one thing no-one has ever said about Ravenclaws is that we are mediocre.” She took a deep, steadying breath and thought of Innes for courage. “I don’t think anyone has ever said it of the Boccamera, either.”

Those dark, worldly eyes bored into her. Tzenni refused to look down. “Hm. Perhaps not.” The Headmistress’s gaze sharpened. “You won the School Potions Prize last year, did you not?”

Tzenni blinked. “Yes, Headmistress. For a new variant on the Clarifying Concoction.”

“Hm.” The Headmistress seemed to look straight through her for a moment, then she nodded. “We will see what my son makes of you. Now, Tzenni Boccamera - I suggest you take yourself to Ravenclaw Tower. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Headmistress.” Feeling as though she had been released from an ordeal, Tzenni hastened out of the Hall, then paused to lean against the wall and release a deep sigh. It was certainly going to be a difficult year. Her mind drifted back over the Headmistress' words, “ _We will see what my son makes of you...”_ She wasn't sure she wanted a Malabranca to make anything of her, but, on the other hand, think what she could learn from someone who had revolutionised brewing with aconite.

She contemplated the Potions Master's surprisingly warm eyes across the Great Hall, then, with some wonder, her own defiant words to his mother. Tzenni straightened up and both Ligeia and Catha would have been surprised to see a fey smile on their quiet sister's face. _No-one can make anything of me unless I let them. After all, I am Boccamera._ Perhaps this year would be more interesting than difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lella Placida's opinion on the pertness of the Boccamera paraphrases her first conversation with Tzenni in _The Hawkwood War_ , though it does seem that she might look upon Tzenni and Latinus' future relationship with more favour in the HP-verse. After she's got over the impropriety of Latinus falling for one of his pupils, that is. ;)


End file.
